The Newsboy's Bride
by T-R-Us
Summary: It's a dark and stormy night and Specs pulls out a familiar book to keep the younger newsies' minds off the storm. Once they start to get bored, however, it's only right to begin changing names...
1. Prologue

**Title:** "The Newsboy's Bride"  
**Rating:** K+  
**Authoress:** T-R-Us  
**Pairings:** Jack/Sarah  
**Time:** 1899 (And also a fantasy AU for the setting of the story)  
**Summary: **It was a dark and stormy night. At the request of the frightened younger newsies, Specs cracks out an old, familiar book. When the older newsies in attendance to this impromptu "story time" get bored, it's only right for Specs to begin changing names...

**Disclaimer: **I don't own either Newsies or The Princess Bride and I'm sure that surprises you immensely. Whatwhat.

**Authoress' Notes: **So, it says "Jack/Sarah" at the top. No, you probably don't like that pairing. It seems that most of us in the Newsies fandom don't. I never really understood why other than I guess we feel threatened by Sarah's presence in an otherwise predominately male cast. I guess what I'm trying to say is: deal with it.

**Big Thank You and PLUG: **The original 'Newsboy Bride' story, entitled 'The Newsie Bride' was written by PuckRox who has graciously allowed me to write a similar fanfiction. (They aren't identical, of course.) If you like this story, I suggest you also read hers! Thanks, PuckRox!  
**  
Chapter One: "Prologue" **

It was a dark and stormy night, a little rougher than the other major electrical storms that had been rolling through the city over the course of an exceptionally hot summer. Thunder crashed powerfully overhead and lightning flared outside the dirty windows of the Manhattan Lodging House, illuminating the bunkroom for several seconds before darkening again. It was late, well past midnight, but still a handful of newsies shuffled about the room.

"I found another one!"

"Well stick a pot under it!" Jack rolled his eyes as he handed a small, rusted pot to Mush. He was tired and wanted nothing more than to go back to bed, a wish destined to remain unfulfilled until he and the other three newsies still awake had staunched the steady flow of water dripping from the ceiling. Grabbing another pot, he placed it on his own bed, watching in satisfaction as it caught the steady '_drip, drip, drip_' responsible for waking him in the first place.

"Specs, go see if we have any more bowls." Watching as the newsie in question stepped out into the dark hallway, Jack let loose a loud yawn. Turning to call out something more, he was drowned out when a particularly loud clap of thunder rumbled through the Lodging House, accompanied by a flurry of motion.

Blinking in confusion, he peered down at the small form that had just attached itself to his leg.

"Alright, Racetrack, it was just a loud noise," the newsie jokingly sneered as he tried to extricate himself from the strong grip, "No need to be scared or nothin'."

From where he stood several feet away, Racetrack Higgins rolled his eyes.

"Cowboy? I'm scared." It was Les, Jack recognized now, who shivered with terror as he clung tightly to the older newsie.

"It's just a bit o' thunder," having pried each individual finger off one-by-one, Jack gave the smaller boy's shoulder a comforting squeeze. "Nothin' to worry about. We're inside, so we're okay."

Despite the reassuring words, the boy continued to tremble.

"Les isn't the only one who's scared," came Specs' voice from out in the hall, wry as ever. He had opened the cupboard by the stairs in search of more bowls and found instead a pair of younger newsies. "Boots and Snipeshooter thought it would be safer to hide in here."

"I wasn't scared," Snipeshooter grumbled, rising to his feet and guiltily smoothing the dust off of his clothes. "I was just keepin' Boots company s'all." His comment was echoed with another loud blast of thunder, confirming his lie as he yelped and clung to Specs.

"Alright, boys, the party's over." With a candle in one hand and a pot in the other, Mush climbed the last couple of steps up to the bunkroom landing. "Some of us have been up all night keepin' the rain from drowning everyone in their sleep, so the least you boys can do is be quiet and let us finish."

In the bunkroom, Les continued to follow Jack as the older newsie inspected his friends' handiwork. "Cowboy," the ten year old's voice quavered, "I can't sleep! I didn't know the Lodging House was so scary!"

Despite his annoyance, Jack managed to grin down at his best friend's younger brother. The boy had spent weeks begging his parents to be allowed to spend a night with the other newsies and it was a pity that at his first opportunity they were struck by the roughest storm of the season. Jack couldn't help but be reminded of his own first night in the bunkroom, it had been stormy then, too. "Alright, I'll stay up with you. We're just about done with the leaks anyway."

"Out of pots is more like it," Racetrack grumbled as he flopped onto his own bunk, worn out.

"What do you say, Race?" Jack turned to him, grinning. "You up for a late night game of cards? With you this tired I might actually stand a chance at winning."

Despite himself, the Italian smiled and pulled his lanky frame out of bed to lumber over to Jack and Les. Leaning his back against the end of Kid Blink's bunk, a deck of cards appeared in his hands as though they had always been there. "Poker or rummy or what?"

"Oh no, not cards!" With Boots, Specs and Mush close behind him, Snipeshooter barreled into the bunkroom, his confidence regained now that everyone was going to be awake. He reached forward to bat the cards out of Racetrack's hands, receiving a sharp swat for his efforts. "That's so boring!"

"Why not get Specs to read to us?" Mush was tired and he knew that if a feasible idea didn't manifest soon, they'd end up doing something ridiculous – another shaving cream fight perhaps – and then there'd be no rest for anyone. "With the stuff he reads, it puts me to sleep just thinking about it."

"_Thanks_, Mush," insulted, Specs tried to defend his reading material. "My books aren't boring. But if you would like me to read I won't say no – as long as you can all agree on something yourselves."

Hurrying eagerly to Specs' bunk, Boots lifted the thin mattress to reveal the rows of books stored underneath. All were tattered and dog-eared. "This looks like it's been read lots, it must be good." He had pulled out a worn, green paperback with several deep creases in the spine and handed it to the bespectacled newsie.

"Oh, this," Specs smoothed a hand over the wrinkled cover, taking the candle from Mush to better see the words printed across the front. "I haven't read this in ages. This is the Princess Bride."

Snipeshooter raised a thin eyebrow, already skeptical of the choice. "Sounds girly."

"It happens," Specs floored the redhead with a sharp look, "To be a classic. Besides, it's got everything. Fencing, fighting, torture, revenge…" He paused, remembering. "There's giants, monsters, chases, escapes, true love, miracles – "

"Perfect!" Jack was smiling as he sat down next to Specs, expecting the story to enthrall his fellow newsies enough that he himself could sneak back to bed. "What are we waiting for if there's monsters _and_ torture.

Racetrack sat down as well, chewing on the end of a cigar, his cards already stowed away. "Any gamblin'?"

"Ah, some. Of the 'life or death' variety."

"Well open the damn book already."

**Closing Comments:** Ah, "the Princess Bride", a book where the author spends the entire story trying to prove that he's not the author.


	2. Buttercup, By Which I Mean Sarah

**Authoress' Note:** Just a little heads up on style, when you see **bold** and _italics_ it means we've shifted between the story and "reality". Don't worry, you'll figure it out. ****

Chapter Two: "Buttercup, By Which I Mean Sarah" 

It was with a soft sigh of resignation that Specs opened the book, nervously reading out the first sentence aloud. He was all too aware of the six pairs of eyes focused intently upon him, silently pressuring the newsie into giving a good performance. Swallowing hard, he began.

"Buttercup was raised on a small farm –"

"You're readin' it wrong, Specs." Already the bubble had burst. Snipeshooter rose triumphantly to his feet, pulling the book into his own hands with a grin. Startled by the unexpected interruption, Specs could only stare at the twelve year old in shock.

Jack, however, had other ideas. "Alright, Snipes," he sneered up at the younger newsie, eyes flashing in challenge, "What _does_ it say then?"

Snipeshooter examined the book carefully. Like the other newsboys, he could read quite proficiently, even if half of the headlines he hawked were of his own devise. Having looked over the first page, he scowled and passed it back to Specs. "Okay, so it's right." Glowering at the book as though it had intentionally chosen to defy him, he sat back down. "But can't you make it more interesting?"

"Yeah," Racetrack puffed lightly on his cigar. "Some girl named 'Buttercup' isn't exactly literary gold."

"Could be a nickname," Mush argued, quick to defend. "Maybe she's got yellow hair or somethin'. Like a buttercup."

Biting back a sharp retort, Specs let the comments slide and looked down impatiently at the first page. It was clear that this was going to be a long night. "Fine. You want it interesting? Well, fine." Clearing his throat, he began anew.

"_Sarah_ was raised on a – "

"I'm likin' this story already." Nothing could dampen the goofy grin on Jack's face as he spoke, even the three pairs of elbows that jabbed themselves into his ribs as an attempt to shush him.

"_Sarah was raised in a small apartment in New York City. Manhattan, should you care for the particulars. It wasn't a very big apartment – her parents had little money – but it was a dream home when compared to the newsboys' Lodging House three blocks away._" Specs paused, taking a sweeping glance at the entranced faces around him before continuing.

"_This was back before there were theatres and light bulbs, but after newsies and lodging houses. Now, Sarah's favorite pastimes were sewing lace and tormenting the newsboy who sold papes on her street. His name was Westley – _oh, ehm, I mean _Jack_."

Sarah Jacobs smoothed a dark strand of hair behind her ear, glaring haughtily at the tall newsie as he turned the corner onto her street. She'd been expecting him.

"Newsboy!" She called out, brow furrowed. "We need _two_ papers this morning. The one that you gave us yesterday was damp." Although quite pretty, Sarah was not of particularly high brain power. "From now on we're going to need two every day to prevent such a mistake from happening again."

Jack looked back into Sarah's face, his dark brown eyes meeting hers perfectly. He had every right to retort that it had been pouring rain the day before and there had been no way to give her – or anyone else – a dry paper. In fact, if he had emptied the distribution office to give her every single copy of the World that there was they would still all have been soaked through.

But all he could say was, "As you wish."

"**As. You. Wish?**" Jack smacked his hand against his forehead in a dramatic show of dismay. "As you wish? Seriously? Who says that, Specs? Who?"

"There's a point behind it."

The bigger newsie groaned. "Well, can't we change it to somethin' else? Somethin' less ridiculous? I could say 'Sure, fine, here you go!' or somethin'."

Deciding that it was in his best interest not to argue with his friend's logic, twisted though it may be, Specs resumed the story – with the added line.

"_But all he could say was 'Sure, fine, here you go!'_"

In fact, 'sure, fine, here you go!' was all that Jack ever said to her.

"Newsboy!" Sarah held her skirt just barely above her shoes. It was raining again and there were puddles everywhere, puddles just begging to soil her dress. "Would you take this jug to the water pump and fill it with water?" She seemed to second guess herself for a moment and shyly added, "Please?"

It was a pointless, even demeaning task, particularly as the water pump in question was directly between them, but Jack took the container anyway. Without breaking her gaze, he filled the jug and gently handed it back, a smile playing at the corner of his lips. "Sure, fine, here you go."

This was the day that Sarah was amazed to discover something. Not only did she learn to try and avoid puddles during a torrential downpour, but she also learned that when Jack was saying 'sure, fine, here you go!' what he really meant was 'you're smokin' hot and I love you.' Even more amazing than this was the day she realized that hiding behind a translucent curtain isn't really an effective means of hiding yourself, but also that she loved Jack too.

"Newsboy," Sarah looked around the street for something to get Jack to do when she spotted a bright, yellow daisy growing in a pot on the ledge of her neighbor's fire escape. "Fetch me that flower."

Jack glanced in the direction of the neatly cultivated daisy then, with his eyes always on Sarah, he plucked it from its pot. "Sure, fine, here you go." Moving ever closer, he pressed it into her hands.

Not another moment passed before he had her in his arms, lips pressed soundly together.

Sarah was quite certain that if Jack hadn't been holding her so tightly she would have fallen, her knees felt so weak. Her attention was pulled away from this thought – and the slight pain of the fire escape railing pressing into her back – as he erased all attempt at coherent thought by moving his tongue into -

"**Hold it!**" Snipeshooter's eyes were wide, his face red with outrage. Next to him, Les appeared to be blushing. "Hold it." He rose to his feet, advancing on Specs accusingly. "What is this? They're _kissing_? What _is_ this? That's gross! I can't believe you're _still_ reading it wrong!"

"I am not and never have been reading this wrong," Specs replied, hotly. "If anything, warping Westley and Buttercup to 'Jack' and 'Sarah' is what's wrong!"

"Okay, you two," It was Mush's turn to rise, jostling Racetrack in the process. He reached out to grab Snipeshooter's shoulder turning the boy around to face him. "Snipes, if you can't be quiet, just go to bed. And Specs, just humor him, okay? Cut out the kissing bits."

Now it was Jack who leapt to his feet, eyes flashing dangerously. "Cut out the kissing? But it's all me and – "

"Exactly why we don't want to hear it," put in Racetrack, incapable of resisting himself.

"I'm going back to the story now," Specs cut in. "The next person to interrupt is going to get walloped." He paused, as though waiting for Snipeshooter to protest. "Anyone? No? Good."

"_Jack did not have enough money for marriage, let alone the other important things essential to the life of newlyweds. So he packed what few belongings he had, bid farewell to his newsie friends – giving over leadership to his dear friend, Specs – _" Jack snorted at this, but otherwise remained silent, "_ – And left New York to seek his fortune in Santa Fe._"

Sarah shivered in Jack's arms, her mind wandering over the distance between New York and Santa Fe and the dangers that doubtless lay between. Like the heat. Wasn't it hot in Santa Fe? Wouldn't that make Jack sweaty and a little gross? Sarah wasn't sure if she could deal with that. What If he was one of those people who not only sweat, but sweat _profusely_? Grimacing at the thought, she looked up at the newsboy, trying to keep the idea of his potentially sweat-soaked body out of her head. "I don't know if I'll ever see you again?"

Oblivious, Jack smoothed her hair and held her closer. "Of course you will."

"But what if something happens to you?" She gazed at his face, a tear sliding down her cheek. She meant something like sweat or a physically marring encounter with the burning sun. Sarah wasn't so sure that she could deal with a horribly sun-burnt Jack, either.

Raising a hand, he wiped away the small tear drop. "I'll send for you. I'm gonna strike it big in Santa Fe, maybe work on a ranch. Then you can come and join me." He bent to kiss her forehead. "This is True Love, y'know?"

Unfortunately, Jack never made it to Santa Fe. He was waylaid by a strike about newspaper distribution prices in Jersey, after which he was attacked by the Dread Robber Kid Blink, infamous for never leaving captives alive. When Sarah got the news that Jack had been brutally murdered -

"**Brutally murdered by Blink is good. **Real good. In fact, so good that – "

"Shut up, Snipeshooter. Just shut up." Mush's valiant attempt to gloss over the outburst was lost when Jack threw himself at Specs.

"What _is_ this? What is this, Specs? You made me a character who dies in the first five minutes? What the – "

Specs pulled back from his friend, dodging away from Jack's outstretched hands. "I'm sorry, okay? It gets better. Calm down."

"_When Sarah got the news that Jack had been brutally murdered, she went into her bedroom and shut the door. For days she neither ate nor slept._"

Sarah curled her legs beneath her, pulling herself into a tight ball on a chair near the fireplace. Her father had been horribly injured in a terrible factory accident and her mother was too deeply engrossed in her cooking for beginner's class to pay attention to the grieving girl.

Her True Love was dead.

Tears flowed freely from her eyes, but no sound came from her cracked lips. She had screamed in agony when she first heard the news – greatly disturbing the neighbours – and now did not have the energy for even the softest whisper.

Jack was dead and there was nothing she could do about it. (This was a concept even she understood.)

Five years later, Newsies Square in New York City was filled with its usual hustle and bustle. Newsboys milled about, chatting with friends while they waited for the evening edition of the World to be released. Upon the Horace Greeley statue in the center of the square, a figure rose above his peers.

"My people," he shouted. Once, twice, six times before anyone bothered to look at him. It was Oscar Delancey, not an actual newsie at all, but the nephew of the infamous proprietor of the distribution office. "A month from now, I shall marry a young lady who was once attached to one of yourselves."

This generated more attention as the newsboys began to re-evaluate past relationships, wondering who on earth would accept Oscar as a fiancé.

"I give you the future Mrs. Delancey!" Oscar gestured to his right, where his older brother dragged Sarah into the crowd.

"**Wait!**" Jack stared at Specs in horror. "I die in the first few minutes and then _Oscar_ comes and takes Sarah away from me? I demand to be _un_killed!"

"Ehm," Specs fumbled with his eponymous glasses, nervously wiping them on his shirt. "I can't do that, so you'll have to be quiet and listen to the story."

"Tough luck, Jacky-boy."

"Shut up, Racetrack."

"_Sarah's emptiness had consumed her. While she had – under some duress – agreed to marry him, she did not love Oscar Delancey. With Jack gone, her only joy now was to be found in her daily walk. And also sewing._"

Some time after her public display in Newsies Square, Sarah found herself blissfully alone with time enough for a walk. After moving through the crowded streets of Manhattan, she soon enough reached the waterfront, the Brooklyn bridge looming tall in the distance.

Kicking off her shoes, Sarah considered dipping her feet into the water and was startled when a voice suddenly called out from the right.

"Girl! Hey, girl!" The speaker was male with very pinkish skin and a particularly fat head. Everything about him screamed that there was something not quite right, from the thin crop of blond hair perched atop his scalp to the bowtie wrapped rather tightly around his neck – perhaps the cause of the redness in his face? While this in itself was unnerving, it was the man's smile that frightened Sarah most. "Am I right," he continued, "To assume that you are in the habit of keeping company with _newsboys_?"

Sarah wasn't quite sure of how to answer this. Did Jack count? She hadn't spent much time with any of his friends, so really she was only in the habit of keeping company with _a_ newsboy, in the singular.

She didn't have time to ponder long over the grammatical implications of his question any further when a heavy hand wrapped itself around her neck. It squeezed and Sarah was enveloped in cool darkness as she slumped to the ground in a dead faint.


	3. Monsters, Literally

****

Chapter Three: "Monsters, Literally" 

"_Sarah was placed into the bottom of a small, wooden rowboat. The vessel hardly seemed to be especially seaworthy, but the boy who had rendered her unconscious stepped in without fear and the rickety boat remained afloat._"

"What's that, Snyder?" A second boy, an Italian, nodded at the pink object in his boss' hands.

Snyder turned to face him, sparing a quick glance down at what he was holding, as if to reaffirm that he himself knew what the item was. "It's a pair of suspenders from a newsboy in Brooklyn." Having already ripped a bit off of his victim's skirt, he tossed both items onto the ground near the water's edge. "It'll cover our tracks once we're gone – make them think it was Brooklyn responsible for taking their precious girl."

"When did Brooklyn become a person?" Asked the young, muscular-looking boy in the boat. "And who's they?" He looked down at their captive in pity, surely the girl couldn't have done something so terrible as to warrant being kidnapped by them – their motives for doing so still unexplained. "I thought she was just Delancey's girl?"

"They, him, me, her, it, everybody!" Snyder growled in response, rolling his eyes as he jumped none too nimbly into the boat. It wobbled precariously. "The important thing is that we've taken her and no one will suspect it was us!"

"**Wait up for a second.**" Mush's brow was furrowed tightly in confusion. "It's great to be in the story and all, but what's going on? Why are we kidnapping Sarah? And why are Racetrack and I working for Snyder?"

"Actually, uh, I was referencing _Itey_ – "

" – this makes no sense!"

Specs sighed. It appeared that he had indeed encountered a snag in his storytelling. "Well, let's just say that you and Itey – eh, Racetrack – got nabbed by the bulls one day and now you're paying back your debt to society by helping Snyder kidnap Sarah because he – uh – is attracted to her."

Racetrack, minorly annoyed at having been glossed over in favor of Itey, made a face. "Sarah? Really? I mean, if it was Crutchy we was talkin' about, I maybe coulda seen it. But Sarah?"

When it looked like Jack was going to explode at the subtle hint that Crutchy was preferable to his girlfriend, Mush intercepted with, "I mean, has Snyder even met Sarah?"

Silence.

"He has in this story."

"_Snyder refocused his attention on the Italian, shooting him a pointed look that had him climbing into the boat after his boss._"

"So what do we do with the girl now?" Racetrack cast them off, setting the little boat adrift in the bay.

"We'll take her to my place."

There was an awkward silence within the boat, where each of its occupants tried to avoid eye contact with one another.

"You're going to pay us first, right?"

"Of course I'm going to pay you first! Do you think I want you loitering around while I – " Snyder paused. "I'm going to take a nap. Wake me up when we get there." He closed his eyes, but reopened them in a hurry as soon as Racetrack started to speak. "And I swear on all that is holy that if either one of you starts to rhyme, I will throw you out of this boat in a heartbeat." His threat finished, he let the rocking of the boat lull him to sleep.

"That man Snyder," Mush began, eyes mischievous as soon as he knew that the man was asleep, "He can… _fuss_."

"No. Shut up."

The vessel continued its course even further out into the open water of the bay, steadily nearing its somewhat questionable destination all the time.

"At this rate, we'll be on the opposite shore in an hour or two," Snyder's voice reflected the irritation he felt at Mush's slow pace. The newsie had been rowing for the past three hours and numerous other watercraft had soared past them, including two ducks and a rather vengeful looking cat.

"We'll take a carriage to my place and then we're homefree!" He smiled deviously down at Sarah who, still without any clue of what was going on, remained fairly unalarmed.

"Hey, Snyder?" Racetrack was watching the water receeding behind the rowboat as he had dutifully been doing since lighting his first cigarette. Now on his twelfth, he had been watching the horizon for a while. "Are you sure there's nobody following us?"

"Am _I_ sure?" The man exploded, "Whose job is it to be watching for these things? No I'm not sure! Are _you_ sure nobody is following us?"

Racetrack shrugged. "Can I get a second opinion?"

Snarling, Snyder followed the Italian's gaze. There were a number of other boats on the water at this time of day; steamers, cruise ships, kayaks – for this was a time before the invention of canoes but after the allowance of vessels into the Upper New York Bay. None of these seemed to be following them, though there _were_ a number of girls piled precariously on a floating raft that seemed to be watching Mush with eager eyes. Snyder wrote these off as the usual crowd that followed his attractive thug around. "Pretty sure," he said instead.

"It doesn't matter if they aren't following you now," Sarah pointed out and Racetrack wondered vaguely why they hadn't bothered to gag her. "Someone will and when you're caught they'll have you put away!" She wasn't exactly sure _where_ they'd be put away, but it was a phrase she'd heard her father say about his employers numerous times before his accident. Which in hindsight may not have been so accidental. She couldn't be quite sure, of course, the concept of unionization baffled her.

Chin raised in defiance, she looked out across the choppy water.

"Of all of us on this boat who should be worried," Snyder grabbed a firm hold of Sarah's chin in his sweaty grasp, "You're – "

"**Why is Snyder touchin' my girl?**" Jack growled at Specs, tempted to reach out and grab the book as Snipeshooter had done and rifle through its pages in search of a suitable answer. As if anticipating such an action, Specs held the book a little closer to his chest.

"Jack, she ain't your girl no more, you're dead." Boot reasoned, his logic earning him a sharp look.

"Would you shut up? I'm finally in the story and I wanna know what happens," Mush turned to Specs, eyes bright. "Do we take her to Snyder's? Does the river monster get us?"

Jack rolled his eyes, his frustration taking on a different direction, transferring to Mush and an age old argument. He'd thought that they had squashed this stupid myth ages ago. "There is no such thing as a river monster."

"I saw it too! By the Brooklyn docks!"

"You guys are both – "

"Don't call us – "

"Yes there is!"

"And then I said – "

" – Did you really?"

"_And then the river monster appeared from the murky depths of the bay, its long slimy tail winding around Sarah's body, pulling her overboard and holding her there until slowly, slowly she drowned, terrified because her True Love and all the other newsies listening to her story were too busy arguing about something stupid to realize that she was dying under their boat._" Specs' voice had not raised in volume at the slightest and yet his cool tone silenced those around him instantly.

"Did that really happen?" Les' eyes were wide, gazing up at Specs in horror. This was his sister they were talking about, afterall.

"No," the bespectacled newsie smiled at the younger boy. "No, that doesn't happen." Seeing that the argument had died entirely, he continued.

"_Snyder grabbed a hold of Sarah's chin in his sweaty grasp, turning her to look into his too-red face._"

"You're the one who should be the most worried." He grinned toothily and released her. "For the rest of us, well, it's almost over." He closed his eyes as though to take another nap, but was startled back to alertness at a soft splash.

"Sorry," Mush muttered as he reached out to retrieve the oar he had dropped in the water.

As her kidnappers' attention was focused on Mush, Sarah peered over the side of the boat. She was a mildly proficient swimmer. If she could just make it into the water without their noticing, she might have a reasonable to good chance of escape. Bracing herself, she inched her way higher up along the side of the rowboat. All she needed was to throw her weight to the side in just the right way -

"You're wrong, someone is definitely following us."

"What!" Snyder peered out across the bay. "I don't see any boats!"

"That," Racetrack shrugged and scratched behind his ear, "Is because they're swimming."


End file.
